Page 16 of My Queendom for a Horse

He tosses his head again.

Now I’m beginning to wonder whether I’m going crazy. Do I really think this horse is problem-solving my complaints and arguing with me about things? Maybe he’s just sassy and tosses his head a lot.

“Okay, I’m going to get this coat.” I stare at it for a moment without moving.

And he tosses his head again.

It feels like I’m starring in some live-action Disney movie. What’s next? Squirrels cleaning my kitchen? Birds picking up debris from our walkway?

I finally close the gap between me and the barn and grab the heavy coat. It smells of sweat and dirt, but I slide my arms into it anyway. I really wish I had some gloves. My hands are going to freeze—but I doubt he’d stand stock still while I jaunt into my house and change clothes. This is really the problem with my entire life. I never have time to prepare for anything. Everything happens in various states of emergency, leaving me scrambling with whatever I have on hand.

“I’m not pleased with you right now, sir. I mean, I love you, but I’m not happy. You could have just had some grass and taken a break in that pasture. I could have showered, and eaten something, and had a nap before I go on this horrible lunch date to beg my ex for money. It’s your fault I even need money, by the way. But instead, we’re going for a freezing ride, and I’ll barely have time to shower before I have to face him.”

I swear, Obsidian tilts his head and his eye swivels to focus on my face. I walk him out past the gate and close it behind us. I swing up on his back and for the first time, I’m actually riding the horse I just spent a fortune to acquire and have spent days now defending.

We walk briskly for a moment and trot for a bit longer, but at the slightest nudge, he takes off.

Riding him is like I imagine it feels to drive a Ferrari!

What was Finn complaining about? We make a big loop around the meadow behind our stable, and then I decide to take him a little farther. The four or five hundred acres closest to the house are forested with spruce, birch, and pine mostly, but we’ve cleared a path through it, and set up some jumps we use to train our hunt horses, including Five. I angle him toward the path, and he takes off.

He can really fly.

We approach the first jump, set up to mimic Becher’s Brook in Liverpool, and I search for any sign of fear or nervousness, because this jump has a major ditch behind it, and it’s tall. Almost five feet. I don’t sense any, so I urge him forward. He leaps the fence with a foot to spare, and pulls his nose up almost immediately! It’s the most effortless ride I’ve ever had over this fence, on one of the hardest jumps we have. We fly over the next few obstacles with the same energy and effortless ease. By the time we clear the last one, I’m so pleased that I lean forward to pat his neck.

“You were worth every penny. What an amazing jumper you are!”

He glances back at me, and I swear he’s pleased with himself.

Five Times Fast is the best hunter I’ve ever raised. My mom’s family gave me a filly when I was only five years old, and I grew up with her. We did quite well, and Five’s her grandson. I have high hopes for him, but if I’m being honest, he’s nothing to Obsidian.

“You could win it all, boy. Cheltenham, the Grand National, everything! You could change my life!” Buying him put me in major trouble, but somehow it felt like the most freeing thing, the most Kristiana thing I’ve done in months. If I can get past this balloon payment, forget just paying off the debt my father gambled us into, we could become a real, respected stable. We could put Latvia on the map.

And he’s a stallion, so he could father a new line of jumpers. This might be the beginning we always needed. Then, maybe, Gustav would call me, begging me to breed my epic stallion to Grandma and Grandpa’s mares.

I pull him up next to the brook and stop to see if he wants a drink. He’s thirsty, so I let him take his fill, which is why we’re still enough for me to feel the buzzing. I pull out my phone. Four missed calls from my dad. What could he want that’s so urgent?

I text him. WHAT?

He texts back. SEAN’S HERE.

It’s barely ten o’clock! Why would he show up so early?

“I hate this.” I pat his neck again. He’s warm and my hands are freezing. He glances back at me and his ears shift. Horses always listen better than people, but this horse listens like none I’ve met before. “It feels like my dad’s trying to sell me off.”

He blinks. My horse actually blinks several times, like he’s confused.

Maybe it’ll be cathartic for me to talk about this. I certainly can’t say it to my dad. He’d only feel worse. “Years ago, when I was just starting grad school in England, I met this perfect guy named Sean. He was handsome. He was smart. And his family had tons of money, though I didn’t know that at the time. We dated for almost a year. It was a perfect romance. Calm and grounded, but also exciting and fresh. I thought he was going to propose one night, but instead. . .he broke up with me.”

Obsidian walks in a circle, tossing his head in what looks like agitation.

“A break up is when the other person tells you they don’t like you anymore, basically. Anyway, apparently his parents had found him a perfect little blue blood princess. It explained why, in the midst of all our perfection, I’d never met his family.”

He’s had a little break, so I ask him to go. I need to move again.

Obsidian obliges, racing through the trees on the roughly-kept path. The wind at my face calms me down some. But eventually we reach the fork in the path. I have to go right to reach Sean at the house. Or if I turn left, we head for another trail, full of new obstacles, and the place where the same stream cuts through the western side of our property.

I pull Obsidian up short.

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